


Triptych

by Sarahtoo



Category: Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries
Genre: F/M, Fluff, PWP, a few of your favorite things, silliness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-23
Updated: 2017-02-25
Packaged: 2018-09-26 09:56:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,342
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9884828
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sarahtoo/pseuds/Sarahtoo
Summary: It's my friend Fire_Sign's birthday, so I thought I might make some of her favorite things. Happy happy birthday, lady! ♥Please note - this first chapter is solidly in canon and rated Gen, but there will be others that aren't so wholesome. :D





	1. Forearms and Mussed Jack

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Fire_Sign](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fire_Sign/gifts).



Phryne pulled the Hispano-Suiza up in front of the small bungalow with its whitewashed picket fence and jungle of greenery and parked, shaking her head. She would never have guessed that the Detective Inspector had a garden like this! For all that the space itself wasn’t terribly large, it was lush, with thick bushes in every shade of green dotted with flowers in yellow, pink, white, and orange. The grass was neatly trimmed, and the small stone path up to the front door wound slightly before reaching its destination, a charming wander in his own personal wilderness.

She’d known since their last case that he lived alone, and she’d wondered, in passing, what he did with his evenings. She wouldn’t have expected gardening, though. Jack was so buttoned-up, even over a nightcap. In hindsight, she put the clues together. His short fingernails and the tan on his face and hands, his lithe strength that implied a physicality that he didn’t emphasize. She’d noticed it, of course. Who wouldn’t? But she’d forced herself to ignore it—to ignore the aspects of Jack as a man—as much as she could. She didn’t like to deny herself, and if she thought too much about that physicality of his, she’d begin to _want_ in a way that he would not welcome.

Swinging out of the car, her khaki driving coat swirling behind her as she moved, Phryne made her way to the front gate. She pushed through, looking around with interest. His house was small but well-kept, its peaked roof and white trim contrasting nicely with its pale gray clapboard exterior. The front door was painted a deep blue, and the windows sparkled. She was impressed, really—she didn’t think that he had staff the way she did, so he must spend quite a bit of time tending his home.

She knocked on that blue door and turned to look around as she waited for him to answer. From this vantage, the garden was even more spectacular. He’d planted smaller shrubs behind the tall ones that were visible from the street, giving the yard a layered look from the porch. A small table and chairs sat to one side of the front door, similar to the one she had at Wardlow. She smiled a little, thinking of Jack sitting out here with a cup of tea and the paper.

It occurred to her that it had been a full five minutes since she’d knocked—perhaps he wasn’t here? She’d already tried the station, finding Collins on duty, and Hugh had said that Jack wasn’t working today. He could be out, of course, but it was more likely that he was working in a different part of his garden. Craning her neck to either side of the front door, Phryne looked for a path around the house. She spotted it, winding between bushes, and set off. 

As she rounded the house, admiring the landscape along the way, fingers trailing along bright green leaves or the velvet-soft petals of what seemed like a million flowers, Phryne saw the back of Jack’s head where he worked over a patch of dirt. She opened her mouth to call out and paused, lifting a hand to her sunglasses to pull them down her nose so that she could get an unobstructed view.

The way he was dressed was very different from what she saw of him at work. He was bent over, whistling as he dug in the soil, and her gaze moved from the unpomaded curls that flopped to the tops of his ears down his back, its strength obvious under the shirt that stretched across it, and then farther to admire the muscular roundness of his bottom where it was displayed in his crouch. He’d shed his three-piece suit in favor of grubby canvas pants in mud-brown held up by darker brown braces that stretched in a Y from the button at his waistband up to the middle of his back, where they split to stretch over broad shoulders. His shirt was an unbleached linen with no collar, and he’d turned the sleeves up to his elbows, exposing strong, tanned forearms. 

Phryne swallowed hard. She’d known that Jack was an attractive man, but this… the shape of his body and the play of his muscles caused a heaviness to pool in her abdomen, and her mouth felt dry. She licked her lips lightly, regret over their last conversation—both its surface and its underlying meaning—washing over her.

“My wife’s been living with her sister for some time now,” he’d said, “but a marriage is still a marriage, Miss Fisher.” She’d heard his meaning clearly—he was attracted to her, but he’d made a vow, and he wouldn’t break it.

“Especially to a man of honor,” she’d replied lightly, her own message clear, she thought—she would not cause him grief by pursuing him.

She allowed herself a moment to ponder what that promise might cost her—what she could see of him, usually obscured by layers of clothing, was entirely to her taste—and let out a small sigh. Damn her principles, anyway. She pushed up her sunglasses and took a step forward, out of the path and into the sunshine of his back garden.

“Hello, Jack!” 

He whirled, his face surprised, and pushed himself to his feet, turning to face her and wiping his hands on his trousers.

“Miss Fisher,” he said, his deep voice rumbling with what she hoped, ridiculously, was pleasure. “What are you doing here?”

Phryne answered him even as her brain catalogued for later consideration the front of his gardening ensemble: linen shirt open at the neck and unbuttoned down to the midpoint of his chest, showing the pale cotton of his undershirt and a small furring of hair; dark braces arrowing down his chest to the waistband of his canvas trousers, the straight lines of which hugged his hips and skimmed loosely across his groin, nevertheless revealing a bulge that was not insubstantial.

“I needed to speak with you, Jack, and you weren’t at the station.”

“But how did you…” Jack set his hands on his hips, tilting his head to study her. She hoped that her blouse, a thin chiffon in swirling shades of blue, was playing up her eyes the way she’d intended it should.

“I am a detective, remember?” She smiled sunnily up at him. “And besides, this wouldn’t wait.” She stepped closer, reaching into her pocket and withdrawing an envelope. She held it out, but Jack spread his hands to show their filthy state. 

“Can you tell me what it is?” The corners of Jack’s mouth were tugging downward the way they did before he smiled, and she could see his eyes crinkling at the edges. 

“Here, I’ll hold it for you,” Phryne opened the flap of the envelope, withdrawing a card. She stepped closer, turning to stand beside him and opening the card so that he could see it. Not incidentally, the change in her stance brought her closer to him, and she took a deep breath through her nostrils, drinking in his scent—clean sweat and green things, plus a hint of that underlying spice that she always smelled when she was near him. Jack really did smell divine.

“An evening at the theater, for Miss Williams’ birthday?”

“Exactly! I’ve invited you and Hugh—the director is a friend of mine, and he’s reserved a box for us for tonight’s performance.” She looked up at him, meeting his eyes as she tucked the invitation back in its envelope. Up close, his eyes were very blue, and his lashes in the sunlight were long and golden. “Are you free?”

“I have no other plans. I’d love to join you.” 

Her eyes fell to his throat, watching his Adam’s apple move as he spoke. With an effort, Phryne stepped away.

“Wonderful! We will meet you at the theater then. Nine o’clock sharp!” She looked around the yard and noted another small table and chairs, this one furnished with a bottle of what looked like lemonade and a glass. She moved to tuck the invitation under the empty glass, then turned back to Jack, who was watching her, his expression bemused. 

“Well, I’ll leave you to it, then,” she said, flashing a grin as she stepped back across the lawn to the entrance to the path around the house. “I’ll let myself out.”

“I’ll see you tonight, Miss Fisher,” he said with a small shake of his head.

She sent him a jaunty wave as she moved along the side of the house, back toward her Hispano. Perhaps she’d reconsider the frock she was wearing tonight—her first choice had been a navy satin that now seemed rather dull. Her new silver-and-black beaded sheath with the asymmetrical neckline might be just the thing. After all, she had promised not to seduce the inspector, but if he chose to seduce her… Her grin faded to a smirk. She might as well show him what he’d be in for.


	2. Angry Phracking

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I feel I may have misled you all - these three chapters aren't connected by anything other than Phrack and the fact that they're based on stuff that Fire_Sign loves. I kinda wish I'd stuck with that first one, though, since you're all being so nice. :D

“Ah, I see. Thank you, Mr. Butler.” 

Jack hung up the phone, his hand resting on it as he considered what to do. He was pretty certain that Phryne was avoiding him. They’d been working on a case involving a dead girl who’d been found at the fairground, and she’d left him a message that she had a lead. That had been two days ago, and he hadn’t heard anything from her since.

She’d been home, Mr. Butler said, so he wasn’t concerned that she’d gotten herself into trouble, but she hadn’t checked in with the police. Was this another Ailsa Wilton situation, where she’d found someone whose story was sad enough that she wanted to spare them, and she didn’t trust Jack to have her back? He’d thought they were beyond that. If she’d been home long enough to change, she could also have gotten him word—they were _partners_ , and she was shutting him out.

Shoving up from his desk, he gathered up his coat and hat. He’d head home, have some dinner, and figure out how to find his erstwhile lover.

As Jack drove to his small bungalow, the problem went round and round in his mind. Mr. Butler had said that Phryne had been accompanied by a young woman—the dead girl’s friend, perhaps? The police had been looking for a girl who’d been seen with the deceased. But if Phryne had found the friend, why hadn’t she brought her in for questioning? 

Jack could feel his temper rising. At minimum, she could have sent another message. What if she’d gotten herself into trouble again? How would he be able to help her if he didn’t know what was going on? He didn’t ask for much, he thought. Just the consideration that he would give her in the same situation. A simple phone call or a note delivered by one of her staff would suffice. Instead here he was, at a dead end in his own investigation, waiting for her to deign to share the information she had.

By the time he reached his house, he was in a towering temper. Slamming the front door behind him, he hung his coat and hat on the tree with more force than usual, then stripped off his suit jacket, heading back to his bedroom. He draped the jacket over a chair and removed his waistcoat while toeing off his shoes and removing his socks, muttering under his breath about “withholding evidence” and “keep me informed” and “can’t believe we’re back to this.” With a yank, he loosened his tie, pulling it from around his neck without care for its delicate fabric and tossing it on his dresser as he unbuttoned his collar. His cufflinks were next, and they made a satisfying _plink_ as they spun around the bottom of the bowl he kept them in.

Rolling up his sleeves, he headed to his parlor, where he poured himself a glass of whiskey. Taking it through to the kitchen, he bad-temperedly prepared a sandwich and stood at the counter to eat it. He’d just finished the last bite and taken the first sip of his whiskey when he heard the front door open. He didn’t move. He knew who it would be, and he didn’t have any intention of making this easy on her.

“Jack?” He heard her call his name, and the clacking of her heels as she looked for him. “Jack? I know you’re here—the car’s outside.” After a moment, she appeared in the doorway to his kitchen.

It was unfair, Jack thought, that after nearly three months as lovers, she could still take his breath away when she entered the room. The sensation just made him angrier—he was determined to have this out no matter how beautiful she looked in her white skirt and a silk blouse that shifted between blue and green, echoing the color of her eyes. She wore her khaki driving coat and was just removing her matching hat, her smile wide and crimson as she looked at him. He took a drink, tearing his eyes away.

“Here you are!” 

Phryne stepped into the kitchen and moved close to press a kiss to Jack’s cheek. He thought for a moment about pulling away, but decided that stoic and still might be the better bet. Besides, her kisses were not yet something he took for granted.

“Here I am.” He replied, his voice flat. She gave him a puzzled look.

“I’ve come to report, inspector,” she said. It was clear that she could tell he was upset, but she tried gamely to move forward, charming freight train that she was.

“Ah. So I’m finally going to learn about your lead in my murder case?” He downed the last of his whiskey and set the glass on the counter with a clink. He set his hands on the edge of the counter, his elbows wide.

“Our murder case, Jack, and don’t be like that. I haven’t had a moment to check in before now.” Phryne pulled off her crocheted gloves, tucking them and her hat into the pocket of her coat before shrugging it off to lay it over the back of one of his chairs. She turned to face him, resting her hips against the kitchen table and crossing one ankle in its deep blue pump over the other, her hands clasped in front of herself.

“But you had a moment to go home and change at least twice in the last two days?” He tilted his head at her, his lips pressed together. “You have staff, Phryne—use them!” Straightening up, he grasped his whiskey glass and walked out of the kitchen toward the parlor. Phryne followed him, taking two steps to each one of his.

“Are you angry with me, Jack? I’ve been working the case! I even found—”

“Angry with you? I’m more than angry, Phryne. I’m furious!” He sloshed another measure of whiskey into his glass and turned to face her. “ _Two days_ , Phryne! You couldn’t take two minutes out of your busy sleuthing schedule to update your _partner_ on what you were doing?” He took a drink, gesturing with the glass. “Is this another case where you’ve decided that the murderer just needs a few hours to deal with unfinished business before you’ll deign to bring in the authorities? Is it another homosexual man that you’re protecting? _From me_?”

She stood there, her mouth working as he went on the attack.

“I thought we were past this! I thought you trusted me to help—or at least as backup. What if the situation you’d gotten into was more dangerous than you expected? Did you at least have your red-raggers watching your back?” He threw back the last of the liquor and set the glass down, hard, on the table. “I don’t understand you. You say that we’re partners, but you don’t bother to even send a _note_ for two _fucking_ days?” His hands, now empty, were gesturing wildly. 

“Wait just a minute, Jack,” Phryne said. She’d finally found her voice, it seemed, and her temper. “Where’s the trust in _your_ partner here? I promised you that I wouldn’t keep things from you, and I haven’t—I’ve been running myself ragged for the last two days, trying to get the girl I found to talk to me.” She planted her hands on her hips and glared at him. “I’ve been trying to convince her that I’m not working directly with the police—I could hardly saunter into City South with her at my side, could I?” She shook her head, her own hands waving in the air.

“You could—”

“Oh no, Jack Robinson, you had your say, now it’s my turn.” Her scowl was mutinous, and Jack’s mouth snapped shut, his jaw clenching. He planted one hand on his hip and gestured that she should continue.

“How could you assume that just because you haven’t heard from me, I must be acting against your interests? Not everything revolves around you, Jack.” She moved to the drinks tray and poured herself a whiskey. “And yes, I’d love a drink, thanks.” She saluted him with her glass and took a gulp. 

“Oh I _am_ sorry, Miss Fisher. Would you like some biscuits as well?” His voice ground out between his teeth—he had been rude not to offer, and he knew it. But he was too angry to be civilized at this moment.

“No, thank you, Jack,” she said, the sarcastic sweetness of her voice spiced with anger. “This is quite sufficient.” She took another drink and set her glass down, facing off with him.

“This girl—Polly Craven is her name, and she rather embodies it in my opinion—was with our victim just before her death, and knows who was with her on the railway.” Phryne bit off the information as if it tasted bad. “It took me two days of cajoling and bribing and damned well groveling to get her to tell me, and if you think that was something that I enjoyed, you have another think coming. I have been working like a dog to find that young woman’s killer, so pardon me if I didn’t take a moment to report in. I am not one of your constables, inspector, so do not treat me as if I should be subservient to you.”

“Subservient? When have I ever treated you that way, Miss Fisher?” Jack stepped closer, his eyes on hers. “I have bent every rule for you, have let you into every investigation—not to mention the rest of my life, where your presence is damned complicating. All I’m asking is that you _don’t shut me out_.” Jack saw the flash of hurt in her eyes, and wondered if she’d seen the hurt in his when she’d accused him of wanting her to be subservient.

“Complicating, am I?” 

“Absolutely.”

“Then maybe I should take myself out of the rest of your life, inspector.” She spat the words at him, her body already turning away, and Jack’s hands shot out to grasp her upper arms.

“Damn it, Phryne, don’t walk away from this!” 

“I’m not walking, you’re pushing me!”

“Pushing you? I— _fuck_.” Jack pulled her to his chest, his mouth covering hers. 

The kiss was brutal, lips and tongues and teeth clashing as their anger flared. Jack wrapped one arm around her back, his other hand coming up into her hair, his long fingers cradling her skull. Phryne’s hands scrabbled, clawlike, at his shoulders before finding places to settle, one strongly gripping the X of his braces and the other digging into the muscles at the small of his back. She pressed herself into his body, rising onto her toes to better reach his mouth.

Jack pulled her closer, his hand sliding down to grip her ass; he’d gone hard in a rush as she’d returned his kiss, and he pushed himself into her heat. Phryne gave a small jump, wrapping her legs around his waist, and he took the three steps to push her back against the wall by the parlor door. She rolled her hips against his, her rhythm frantic; he could feel the sharp points of her nipples pressing into his chest through the thin fabric of her blouse and his shirt. Groaning, he slid a hand down her leg and back up under her skirt; her thighs squeezed him as she kicked her shoes off, the thud of each one as it hit the floor muffled by the carpet.

Pushing aside the center seam of her knickers, he could feel how wet she was, and he pushed two fingers inside her body, swallowing the moan she let out at the invasion. She still held the back of his braces, but she was fumbling at his trouser fastenings now, her warm hand grasping his hardness tightly. She stroked his cock hard, pulling at its length, her thumb sweeping across its head.

Pulling his lips from hers, he gasped out, “I’m still angry with you.”

“I’m still angry with you too. Now fuck me.”

She tugged on his cock, bringing it closer to the entrance of her body. He complied, moving his fingers to grasp her hip as he slid inside her in one hard push. Phryne’s head arched back, and his hand knocked against the wall, cushioning her as he began to thrust, his head dipping to rest on her shoulder, his mouth open against her neck. He felt her bounce with his every entrance, and his braces dug into his shoulders as she wrapped them around her fist. Her feet crossing at the small of his back, she let her knees fall sideways, opening herself to him; he responded by shifting his hips with each plunge and grinding himself against her mons. 

Phryne’s hand moved up to grasp his hair, and he fastened his mouth to the curve of her neck, sucking strongly at her skin. It would probably leave a mark, but he couldn’t regret it as he felt a climax shudder through her; his name escaping her as a groan. She tugged his head up and kissed him again, still wild, her tongue sliding into his mouth in a mimicry of the movements of his hips. She held on as he pounded into her body, her kiss shifting to let her bite at his lower lip; she lifted her head slightly, pulling his lip with her teeth, and Jack felt the rise of his own orgasm. His eyes half-open, he watched her face as she played with his mouth, and when her eyes opened wide enough to meet his, the lust and love in them blazed through him. He came with a shout, only barely managing to pull out of her body to spill on the floor beneath them, her cry of release echoing in his ears.

Phryne didn’t let go of him, and Jack held on as well, his head falling to rest against her shoulder; he still cupped her head in one hand, and he felt her tilt to rest her cheek against his hair. 

“You make it very difficult to stay angry with you, Jack.” Phryne’s voice was gentle in his ear, and Jack huffed out a small laugh. “I’m sorry that I didn’t check in.”

With her words, Jack felt the last bit of his anger drain away. “I’m sorry it sounded like I don’t trust you. I was worried.” He felt her fingers combing through his hair. 

“I can’t say that I regret the outcome of this particular fight...” she said, her teeth scraping the shell of his ear. He shivered at the sensation, lifting his head to look at her.

“But I shouldn’t have jumped to conclusions.” Jack shook his head, sliding his hand down her back and pulling her forward so that he could stand upright, holding her against him. Phryne finally let go of his braces to wrap her arms around his neck, her legs unclasping to fall to the floor.

“I’ll try to do better next time,” she said, her eyes and voice serious. “I didn’t intend to worry you.”

Jack nodded and kissed her softly. “I’ll try to do better next time too. I do trust you, you know, when I don’t let my worry get the better of me.” 

Phryne rose on her toes to kiss him in return, her eyes softening to tenderness. “I know that you do, Jack,” she said, tightening her arms around him. He hugged her in return.

“And now that you’ve thoroughly disheveled me, I am going to go take a shower.” Phryne stepped back, her hands sliding down Jack’s shoulders to tangle her fingers with his. 

Jack smirked as her skirt fell down between them, the creases in it from where it had been pressed between them obvious. His smirk changed to a sheepish smile when he realized that he was still fully dressed except for his penis, which hung softly down the front of his trousers. Releasing Phryne’s hands, he tucked himself away, conscious of his cheeks flushing in a strange embarrassment. She laughed softly.

Clearing his throat, he said, “I’ll clean up in here.”

“And then join me, Jack?” Phryne’s fingers were busily unbuttoning her blouse, stripping it off to reveal the camisole that she wore beneath it. “I understand that you think you can do better.” Her eyes sparkled at him as she said it, and Jack laughed.

“I thought you were the one who was going to do better.”

“Oh, I plan to,” she purred, moving down the hall, her hands busy at her waist. When she reached his bedroom door, she turned to look at him as she released the waistband of her skirt and stepped out of it. “Don’t be long, darling.”

“Minx,” he rumbled, feeling himself begin to stir again. At her cheeky grin, he shook his head. Heading into the kitchen to get a damp rag with which to clean up the mess he’d made, he found himself walking faster than usual. He had places to be, after all.


	3. Tuxes for Everyone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Here's the last chapter, another PWP moment between our two lovely characters. I hope your birthday was fantastic, Fire_Sign!

“You looked wonderful tonight, Jack,” Phryne said as she pushed through the door of their bedroom, tossing her top hat to the sofa and a glance over her shoulder at him. 

Jack looked down at himself, one side of his mouth lifting in a smirk. He was a little surprised that she found him attractive like this. Guy’s birthday bash had been a costume party with the theme of Hollywood icons, and Jack had dressed up as Charlie Chaplin in The Tramp. He’d gotten his hands on a close-fitting dark coat and baggy trousers, and he’d found a shirt, vest, and tie that were similar to what the comedian wore in that film. He’d even glued a false mustache to his upper lip, and his curls, unrestrained by pomade, flowed out from a center part, the bowler hat perched on his head doing nothing to contain them. 

When Phryne had expressed astonishment at his choice, he’d smiled at her, raising an eyebrow. “Everyone likes a good comedy, Miss Fisher,” he’d said. “And Chaplin is a master.” 

He had to admit that he’d been surprised at how much fun he’d had all evening. He’d mimicked Chaplin’s physicality—his facial expressions (after much debate, he’d allowed Phryne to line his lashes with kohl) and duck-footed shuffle; Jack had even carried a cane that he twirled when he’d had the space. The majority of Guy and Isabella’s guests seemed to have gotten the message about his availability, too—he’d only had three propositions this evening, compared to the eight to ten he’d turned down at every event in the first weeks that Phryne’s cousins had been here. Apparently, the policeman who was keeping company with Phryne Fisher was a bit of a mystery to the younger Stanleys’ set.

Turning his eyes back to Phryne, he appraised her. He’d had trouble keeping his eyes off her all evening. He knew that she was beautiful, and he was used to seeing her in trousers, but this was different. More, somehow, and yet not his Phryne.

“And you are a vision, Miss Fisher,” he said now as she walked around the end of the bed to sit on her vanity stool, her arms raised as she removed her blonde, finger-waved wig. 

“There you are,” he murmured, watching her shake out her black bob. He’d left his walking stick downstairs in the umbrella stand, and now he carefully laid his bowler into its bandbox, settling the lid on top. Shrugging out of his suit jacket, he laid it across the arm of the sofa and began unbuttoning his waistcoat, his eyes on Phryne. He shook his head, feeling the arousal he’d been battling all evening rising to the fore.

Phryne lifted her hands to her throat, untying the white bowtie she’d worn all evening. Jack thought that Marlene Dietrich had never looked as good in a tuxedo as Phryne did. The long lines of Phryne’s body and her slight curves were shown to advantage by the black tailcoat and tight-fitting white waistcoat she wore. With her bowtie undone and her collar open, but the rest of her skin covered, she was breathtaking.

“Did you like it, Jack?” Her voice was light as she shrugged out of her tailcoat, draping it over the end of the bed, then went to work on the buttons of her shirt.

“Very much,” he rumbled, as he divested himself of the rest of his suit. “I had no idea just how compelling a woman in a well-cut suit could be.” Naked except for his smalls, he climbed up to crawl across the bed, propping himself up on his elbows to watch her undress. 

“I’ve always admired Marlene Dietrich,” Phryne went on as she unbuttoned her waistcoat and shirt, then sat down on the bench to remove her black leather heels. “And you know that I like the trousers!” 

“I’ll admit that I like the trousers too,” Jack said, waggling his eyebrows at her. She laughed lightly and dropped her shoe to the floor. “And I particularly enjoy the view from here,” he murmured. She hadn’t worn a brassiere, since she’d had the waistcoat to support her, and with it open and her shirt unbuttoned, Jack had a perfect view of her naked breasts framed by snowy white linen. Her pink nipples were pointed but not hard, and he watched them pucker under his gaze. He shifted against the coverlet.

Phryne glanced down at her chest, and her smile turned sly.

“Is this what you like about it, Jack?” She dropped her second shoe and, still bent forward, stroked her hands up her sides to cup her breasts through the soft fabric of her shirt, plumping them between her hands.

“I do, very much.” Jack licked his lips, his eyes on her chest. The swell of her breasts in the opening of her shirt made him want to bury his face in those soft curves, and her hands cupping that flesh was incredibly erotic. He swallowed hard.

*****

Phryne looked at Jack where he lay spread out on the bed. She watched the muscles of his bottom flex as he pulsed his hips lightly against the bedcovers, his eyes on her hands. He was beautiful, with his smooth shoulders and broad back, his thick thighs and strong biceps. He still wore the kohl around his eyes and his small paste-on mustache, and the wild curls of his hair made her want to slide her fingers into it and hold on. He looked like Jack, but not Jack, which, absurdly, made her want him even more. 

Straightening, she took the edges of the waistcoat and stretched, arching her back as she pulled it off. She heard Jack swallow as he watched her and felt one side of the shirt fall open, baring one breast. When the vest was off, she tugged the shirt back over herself and stood to lay the vest over the vanity bench. Stepping closer to Jack, who lifted a hand to stroke it up her side, she gathered her tailcoat up and moved back to lay it over the vest. Jack groaned as she stayed just out of reach, and she smiled as she unfastened the hooks at the waistline of her trousers and shucked them and her knickers, laying them aside. 

She sent a sidelong glance at Jack. His hot eyes remained on her, his hands lying flat against the bedcovers as he watched her. Moving slowly and deliberately, Phryne set one foot on the edge of the vanity bench to remove her short stocking and shin garter, knowing that as she bent to take it off, Jack would get a view under her shirt’s hem. His soft exhalation of air rewarded her cheek. She switched feet, turning toward him, conscious of the way her shirt gaped as she moved. Bending over, breasts swaying, she removed the other stocking and garter, then reached into the drawer of her vanity, pulling out the clamshell case that held her family planning device. Watching his face, she inserted the diaphragm, then lifted her fingers to her nose to enjoy the scent of her desire.

“Phryne…” he breathed, and she smiled, unfastening her cufflinks to set them aside. 

Leaving the shirt on, she climbed up onto the bed, pushing Jack back down when he tried to roll to face her. She swung a leg over his back and sat on his bottom, her hands stroking up his back to curl into his hair. Pressing her front to his back, she stroked her breasts along his skin and trailed her mouth across his shoulder and up his neck, leaving streaks of crimson lipstick behind her. Jack groaned and lowered his head, his hands swishing down his sides to cup the backs of her knees.

“Charlie Chaplin was never so attractive as you were tonight, Jack,” she murmured close to his ear, her tongue sliding out to trace its whorls and pull its lobe into her mouth. He shuddered at the touch, and she smiled slightly as she went on. 

“I watched you all evening as you flirted with Guy and Isabella’s nubile young friends, and thought about this moment, when I’d have you naked beneath me.” She dropped her mouth to the juncture of his neck and shoulder and sucked, doing her best to leave a bruise. She heard his moan and felt his hips shift beneath her. Letting go, she lifted her head to look at the mark she’d made, and then licked it tenderly. “My Jack,” she said.

*****

With a growl, Jack rolled beneath her, bringing his hands up her sides to cup her face as he kissed her wildly, his tongue licking into her mouth and his hips pushing upward, his hardened cock in its soft cotton covering nestling into her damp warmth. Phryne grasped his wrist with one hand, returning his kiss, and her other dropped to his chest, her fingers playing with his flat nipple. Her hips rocked against him, the moisture of her body soaking through the fabric of his smalls in moments.

Jack slid his hands down and inside her shirt, clasping her around the ribcage and pulling her upward to take her breast into his mouth. The bright white fabric of her shirt fell around his head, a tent illuminated by the room’s lamps and fragrant with the scent of her perfume and the clean sweat of an evening’s dancing. He breathed deeply through his nose as he tongued her breast, enjoying the pebbly texture of her nipple juxtaposed with the silk of the surrounding skin.

Phryne’s hands settled on the edge of the bed beside his head, and she pushed up slightly, holding herself just far enough away that he had to lift his head to reach her. Murmuring her name, his neck taut with effort, Jack licked and sucked at first one nipple, then the other, before fastening his mouth to the underside of one breast and pulling strongly to create a mark that matched the one she’d left on him. Phryne cried out, her arms buckling, and Jack sucked in a breath through his nose as her weight came down upon him, his mouth still working at her flesh.

He continued to suckle even as his hands slid down her body to her hips, one grasping at her buttock, the other sliding around to place his thumb on her clit. Pushing up, Phryne pulled her breast away and slid the fingers of the hand she’d used to insert her device between his lips. He moaned at the flavor that still lingered there, cleaning each finger carefully and thoroughly. His eyes on hers, he slid his tongue along her knuckles and over the webbing between her fingers. Whimpering, she ground her hips against his thumb and he moved his hand to push his fingers between her legs, sliding one into her body in a short rush.

Phryne keened at the intrusion, her hand dropping away from his mouth to his shoulder. Jack smiled as he took her nipple into his mouth again, his teeth scraping the hardened bud. Adding a second finger to the one inside her body, he held his thumb stationary so that she could push her clit against it.

“Jack,” she gasped, using both hands to prop herself up against his shoulders as her hips moved on his hand. “More…”

With his free hand, Jack untied the string of his smalls and pushed them down to free himself. His head falling backward to thump against the mattress, he slid his fingers out of her, only to replace them with the hard length of his cock. Hands on her hips, he watched Phryne’s face as he pushed into the warm wetness of her body. Her eyes were closed and her mouth open, her head tilted backward as she settled her weight upon him, pressing down until he was fully sheathed inside her.

“Phryne,” he moaned, as she stayed there, unmoving, for a long moment.

At his words, her eyes opened and she tilted her head to meet his gaze. Her eyes were heavy-lidded with pleasure, and she smiled as she slid her hands to his chest, pushing herself up onto her knees. Biting her lip, she held his eyes as she pressed down upon him, then released, her fingers kneading like a cat’s against his chest muscles as she fucked him by millimeters.

“Please, Phryne,” he groaned, needing more than the tiny movements she was making, and yet loving the way she took her pleasure. The shirt she wore brushed against the skin of his thighs, heightening the sensations at his groin—her weight compressing his balls, the squeezing of her thighs, the pressure of her passage against his cock.

“All evening, Jack,” she whispered the words again, biting her lip as she loosened her movements, her hips surging slowly against him, “all I could think of was getting you here, naked and inside of me.”

She leaned down to kiss him, her mouth avid as her breasts pressed the cloth of her shirt between them. Jack’s hands slid to her bottom, urging her to move more forcefully against him as he kissed her, his eyes fluttering shut at the flavor of her mouth.

*****

Jack tasted delicious, with remnants of her own flavor on his tongue. Phryne angled her mouth, her hips speeding up, the feel of his cock sliding within her enhancing the kiss. How she loved this—fucking Jack, even with the familiarity of long practice, still surprised her with its intensity. He brought all of his attention to her pleasure in the bedroom, and she couldn’t get enough of it. This kiss, however, had something different to it, and though she’d thought she would like it, it turned out that she didn’t.

“Mmmph,” she said, pushing a hand to the bed beside his head. “This mustache, dashing as it is, has to go.” With her other hand, she took hold of one side, and when he nodded, pulled sharply to tear it away.

Jack yelped, one hand coming up to touch the reddened flesh of his lip, and Phryne paused in the movements of her hips, stricken that she might have hurt him.

“Darling, are you all right?” She touched his lip with soft fingers, then followed that touch with softer kisses. “I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

“It’s all right,” he said. “I probably was supposed to soak it to loosen the glue, that’s all.” The hand he’d brought up to his face returned to her bottom, urging her to move again.

“Still, I _am_ sorry,” she murmured, feathering kisses across the skin of his upper lip, her tongue dipping into his philtrum and slicking across his lower lip. “I do prefer you without it. Your mouth gives me _ideas_.” She took his lower lip between her teeth, pulling away slightly before letting it go and covering his mouth with hers. 

Jack groaned and surged upward, his hands moving up her back to support her as he turned them, laying Phryne on her back. He caught at one of her thighs, pushing it open so that he could increase the pace of his thrusts; Phryne looped the other leg up around his waist, loving the sensation of his buttocks flexing strongly against her calf. She could feel every hard thrust of his cock deep within her, and she stroked a hand up and into his hair, grasping at his loose curls. Her other hand slid to the small of his back as he began fucking her in earnest, each stroke taking him almost all the way out of her body before he plunged back inside.

Jack paused occasionally to rest, his hips pulsing against hers, his hands wandering to her breasts; after a few moments, he’d plant his hands beside her and begin again, his eyes on hers. As their passion spiralled upward, his rhythm increased, and Jack dropped his head to put his mouth on her neck, his breath hot against her ear. He chanted softly, in time with his thrusts.

“Love… you… so… much… so… good... _fuck_.” 

With a groan, he came, his teeth closing softly around the tendon in her neck, and his hips continuing to move in an erratic pattern. His shudders of pleasure and the heat of his release within her built Phryne’s pleasure up, and when he slid his hand between them to find her clit, massaging it as he held himself deep within her, her orgasm rolled over her in a wave. Contracting against him, Phryne felt rather than heard his moan underscoring her own as she shattered, her internal muscles sucking at him where he lay, her thighs contracting around his waist.

Panting, Jack rolled them again, and Phryne lay limply across his chest.

“I love you, Jack Robinson,” she said, amazed, as always, by how easily the words came for this man. Not unlike herself, she supposed, smiling at the thought. 

“I love you too, Miss Fisher,” he replied, and his voice rumbled against her ear in counterpoint to the beating of his heart. His hands rested under her shirt against the skin of her back, and her body pressed warmly into his. “But don’t think this new affection for menswear means you can borrow my suits.”

She grinned, her cheek nestled against his heart. “Of course not, Jack,” she murmured. “Though I can think of quite a few uses for your ties.”

“Sounds inviting,” he said, chuckling. 

His arms tightened around her and she felt him press a kiss to her hair. With a happy sigh, she closed her eyes, basking in the feel of his skin and his scent mingling with hers. In a few moments, they’d need to disentangle and get ready for bed. But not just yet. Not just yet.


End file.
